


Numbers

by howterrifying



Series: The Denial Mode Series [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlolly - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24020014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howterrifying/pseuds/howterrifying
Summary: Sherlock Holmes finds his way to win back the one who's always counted.(written 7 May 2015)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: The Denial Mode Series [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732471
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	Numbers

**Author's Note:**

> The Denial Mode Series began in the midst of me struggling to get through my soap opera of a multi-chapter fic, The Admirer. In between, as a sort of refresher, and also as my way of ‘denying’ I had stuff to work on, I would call out for these prompts. The call was to either send me a single word or a single song. I received all sorts of lovely responses and these are the stories that developed from them. They mean a lot to me and I remember every single one of them from just looking at their titles. I hope you will enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them. :) x
> 
> ::
> 
> ihartbennyc asked: Glad you're taking prompts! If they're still open: 505, by the Arctic Monkeys.
> 
> Thank you so much for your prompt! It took me a while to draw a story out of this song, but it’s finally here and boy was it fun to write…XD I certainly hope you’ll enjoy what I’ve done with your prompt. x  
> Rated T for language and suggestive themes
> 
> “Oh, when you look at me like that, my darling, what did you expect?”

**Numbers**

There were few things that Sherlock Holmes lost count of. It was afternoon, and he had found time between a case to pay a small vanity call. As he casually browsed the Dior Homme racks for a crisp new suit, he thought about his impending visit to Molly, the one who had saved him. He recalled the countless times he had slept in Molly’s bed. Since she had had to cover for him when he faked his death, he had been a frequent visitor to her flat, insisting to her that it was the safest place there was. She had eventually prepared a spare room for him of course, but he never got round to using it.

Running his fingers over the pristine collar of a possible purchase, he found himself smirking. Sure, he could not remember the times he had slept in her bed, but he certainly remembered — and kept count of — the times he, well, _they_ had _not_ slept in her bed. It was bound to happen, and it had. What Sherlock had not deduced then was how deeply those specific moments with her would be etched in his mind.

Nevertheless, since leaving for Serbia, he had not had the means to _visit_. Now that he was back, and back for good, it was time to set things right. Sherlock Holmes was no sentimental creature, but he had come to learn that when one had something precious, it was foolish to let it go.

“I’ll take these two…and the dark blue dinner jacket there.” he said to the young sales assistant. The young bespectacled man nodded and scurried off to process the detective’s purchases. Just then, his phone chimed with an incoming message. Swiping swiftly at the screen, he read his brother’s message and a small smile played on his lips.

“Perfect,” he said to himself as he slipped the phone back into his trouser pocket, “I’d always wanted to go there.”

—

Molly was having fun. She had not felt like this in a long time. It was good to have taken half a day off work just to indulge in herself a little for a change. She had spent the afternoon catching up on DVDs she had wanted to watch whilst painting her nails a rich burgundy colour. It was the colour she had decided on after having finally decided on her outfit for the evening.

She took her time getting dressed, making sure she was satisfied with her ensemble for dinner. Monochrome was the palette she had gone for, with a sleeveless and slightly billowy silk top tucked into crisp, black high-waisted crepe trousers. Her hair was pulled back into a low, neat ponytail and she wore no jewellery.

“Let’s hope he isn’t late,” she murmured to her reflection as she lightly brushed on some mascara, “We’ve been dying to try out that restaurant.”

Barely had she re-inserted the mascara brush back into its tube when she heard her doorbell ring. She smiled to herself and quickly gathered her coat and bag and made for the door.

“Not only are you not late, you’re on ti— Oh.” she exclaimed when she saw who it was at her door.

The detective had a single rose in his hand and was dressed impeccably in the brand new suit he had purchased that afternoon. With a rather cocky half smile, Sherlock handed Molly the rose then quickly tucked both hands into his trouser pockets.

“Molly,” he greeted with a nod.  
“Sherlock, hello,” she said, a little perplexed, “I thought you were in Serbia.”  
“I was,” he said, “But duty called and Mycroft needed me back. So here I am.”  
“Why didn’t he tell me?” she asked.   
“I told him not to,” said Sherlock, “Was hoping to tell you myself.”  
“Oh, well I — Sorry, I’m being rude, um, would you like to come in?” she asked, moving to put her things down.  
“No, no, I heard you were going to dinner.” he said.  
“Yes, with my, um…”  
“Boyfriend?”  
“I mean to say _date_. But I suppose he is becoming one…”  
“Of course. Well, congratulations.” he said, stepping forward.

Sherlock reached for her and pulled her to him, kissing her slowly and deeply, relishing the way his memories of her now came back to life. It was as though the notion of her date, or boyfriend, had never been brought up. He made sure to kiss her the way he liked, and then the way _she_ liked, clutching her hips tightly.

“Wha— Why?” she asked breathlessly, when he finally stopped.   
“I was just congratulating you,” he remarked, smirking, “Have a good dinner.”

With a wink, the detective turned from her and headed back out of her flat. Molly cleared her throat and was glad she had not applied her lipstick yet. She was also glad her date had not shown up. With a sharp exhale, she shook off the tingling she felt under her skin and headed back to her room to settle her lipstick.

Thankfully, her date, Tom, had not arrived too late. A short cab ride later, they both arrived at the restaurant. They were ushered in to their reserved table where they were both handed the wine list and menus. Molly opened the leather-bound menu excitedly, perusing it carefully.

It was about halfway through the menu when Molly felt a pair of eyes staring very intently at her. At first, she thought it was Tom, but when she looked up, he too had his head buried in the menu. Perhaps she had been mistaken. Shrugging, Molly resumed reading the menu when the feeling came back again. Looking up sharply, she scanned the restaurant this time, trying to see if anyone was watching her from among the sea of faces.

Molly had not been mistaken. Just two tables in front of her was Sherlock, casually drumming his fingers on the table as he stared straight at her. When he saw that she had noticed him, he smiled at her, then turned away to sip his wine.

The sight of Sherlock instantly brought her back to his sudden kiss in her flat that happened barely half an hour ago. She felt a soft, warm flush creep up her cheeks and she hoped in earnest that she was not blushing.

“ _God_ …” she whispered.   
“What’s that?” Tom asked, looking up from his menu.   
“Nothing, nothing,” she answered cheerfully, “Just…really happy they’ve got swordfish on the menu.”

Her date smiled and resumed looking at his menu. Molly sighed with relief and hid behind hers. She cursed silently at the way memories of Sherlock now flooded her mind. God, she had missed him. And of all times to recall that, it had to be _now_.

Suddenly, it struck her. Of course she would recall it _now_ — that had been his intent from the start, from the moment his consulting arse stepped foot into her flat and pressed his mouth to hers. Molly decided that this would not do. He had no right to do this to her, and she was going to put a stop to it.

“Tom, I just need to quickly pop over to the ladies’…” she said, getting up from her chair.   
“Of course,” he answered, as Molly bent to kiss him lightly on the lips.   
“Just five minutes,” she said, “Won’t be long.”

She walked past Tom and in the direction of where the detective was seated. Sherlock’s gaze had returned to her and it followed her as she headed towards him. Molly quickly turned around to see if Tom was looking, and was glad his nose was now buried in the wine list. When she reached Sherlock’s table, she whispered something quickly to him and he got up and followed her. The two of them headed to the back of the restaurant where they found one of the restaurant’s many lavish individual powder rooms and locked themselves in.

The detective settled himself on one of the lush sofas and looked innocently up at Molly. He tilted his head to the empty space beside him, silently offering her a seat. Molly folded her arms and glared at him in response.

“What are you trying to do?” she asked sternly.   
“To tell you I’ve come back,” he replied nonchalantly, “And back for good.”  
“Well, I’m happy for you,” she said, “Really, I am.”  
“Then why are you so worked up?” he asked with a smirk.

That smile of his irked her. It made her want very much to injure that ridiculously beautiful face, knock out some teeth, perhaps. 

“I’m having dinner, with my boyfr—“  
“Date,” he corrected, “You said date just now.”  
“ _Sherlock Holmes_ ,” Molly said fiercely, remembering not to raise her voice.

He smiled wryly, got up and walked up to where she was standing.

“Yes?” he whispered, staring down at her.

Molly looked up at the clear eyes that burned right into hers. This was both confusing and utterly clear at the same time. She would always love Sherlock Holmes, that much was clear. However, she had also successfully moved on, had she not? That was the confusing part. Although it was very clear that this date had no longer become one with Tom. Sherlock Holmes had taken over.

“ _Fuck_ —“ she muttered quietly. The detective had taken another step towards her and she stopped him, placing both palms against his chest.

“Gladly,” he said, slipping one arm around her waist, whilst removing the relenting hands from his chest.

Then, they kissed. Slowly, quietly and desperately.

“You mustn’t look at me like that,” she whispered, her lips barely departing from his.   
“I can _only_ look at you like that,” he whispered back before taking her mouth again.

They finally paused to catch their breaths. Molly leaned her forehead against his chest and chuckled softly. Sherlock had his hands around her as he smiled, kissing the top of her hair. He had not lost her, and every fibre of him was relieved beyond words.

“What am I going to tell Tom?” she asked, frustrated. Molly had begun gently hitting her head against his chest.

The detective laughed at what she was doing and stopped her, placing two fingers beneath her chin and lifting her face to his.

“Here’s what you tell him…” the detective began.

—

The speeding cab felt like a crawling snail to Molly. She sat in it, impatient, with one leg crossed over the other. When it finally stopped at Baker Street, she sped up the stairs and burst into the flat, heading straight for the detective’s room. The door had been left open and he was still in his suit, seated by the edge of his bed, smoking a cigarette. 

“I thought you’d quit,” she said, smirking as she shut the door behind her.  
“I had,” he said, taking one last drag, “But I needed something to take the edge off.”  
“Take what edge off?” she asked, sauntering towards him.  
“The anxiety.” he replied, chucking the cigarette into an ashtray, “I was anxious.”  
“Anxious?”   
“Yu-p.” he said, reaching to pull her towards him.

Molly was now stood in front of the detective, who stared up intently at her.

“What for?” she asked, gently touching the side of his face.   
“For you,” he murmured, pulling her down with him to bed.

Molly now lay on top of him, propped up on all fours. She smiled playfully at him as his eyes shone at her like stars.

“Why would you be anxious for me?” she asked, her mouth hovering dangerously close to his.   
“Because the current count is zero,” he explained, toying with the fabric of her top.   
“Of?”

Sherlock laughed softly and then pulled her down for a kiss.

“Of you, here…” he whispered, drawing her towards him once more, “In _my_ bed.”

**END**


End file.
